In my marble music box there are two glass figurines, frozen in dance and arced gracefully with an air of prestige.

A man and a woman, whom I believe to be Anna Karenina accompanied by her Count Vronsky.

I twist and turn the gold key and a soft melody rings clearly.

As they ornately sweep across the ballroom floor, their love shines and sparkles pristinely.

Although I am depicting a beautiful scene, recall that reality is not always what is seen.

Surprise!

Their story ends in tragedy.

Sometimes when I watch the statuettes, I weep.

I remember how Vronsky made poor Anna weak,

how he stripped me of my self-esteem.

All she could do to cope was get high off morphine,

like I did with weed.

Her feeling of helplessness is all too familiar to me.

We are unfortunate souls, ill-fated to be in love and still end up lonely.

In her dejection, Anna jumped in front of a train to stop the pain caused by her paramour.

My marble music box shows the illusion of perfection so I refrain from loving him more,

before Anna and I share a similar end caused by an insatiable forlorn hope.